


As Ice Pierces Into Black

by miraakcultist



Category: Elder Scrolls V: Skyrim
Genre: F/M, anyway i have no idea what im doing, bickering like a married couple already, these two got issues but WILL B RESOLVED
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-10-23
Updated: 2016-10-23
Packaged: 2018-08-24 05:54:51
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,311
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8359801
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/miraakcultist/pseuds/miraakcultist
Summary: Nephthys and Miraak have their first literal face to face.It's not very friendly.





	

The two Dragonborns slow their pace as they reach a reasonable distance from the Skaal Village. Nephthys remains quiet for the majority of their walk, but eventually she speaks up, and though her voice is somewhat amplified and altered by Konahrik, the caution in it is still quite perceptible.

“So, how do you feel?”

It takes a long while before she has a response.

“About _what_?”

“Well, you were locked up in Apocrypha for ages,” Nephthys clarifies, still sounding careful, though less so now that she had a reply. “Now you’re out. That’s got to have some consequences. How are you holding up?”

Miraak tenses up and stops abruptly. He turns to look at the other Dragonborn, and his posture is defiant.

“I see what you are doing. I will _not_ allow it. And if we are to have this conversation now, let it be face to face.”

He then removes his mask in a brusque movement, then gestures to Nephthys that she does the same. She is taken back and confused by his statement, cocking her head ever so slightly. Eventually, she steps closer to him, taking off her own mask.

They see each other’s faces for the first time.

Nephthys cannot help but feel a twinge of discomfort when she notices the blackened veins across Miraak’s skin, the darkened eye bags, and, above all, those _eyes_. Entirely black, save for a few spots of dark mossy green where his irises must have been. His dark hair is a mess, longer than even hers is, and his beard seems to have been cut crudely with a sword rather than a proper razor, most likely a result of impatience rather than a wish to groom himself.

However, she cannot help but notice that if he _bathed thoroughly_ , properly groomed himself, and _slept_ so he’d lose the eye bags, Miraak would be quite handsome, even for a human. His jaw was wide and strong, his cheekbones sharp, his lips – _no_ , she would _not_ look at them, it would give him the wrong impression. He held his head high and confident, his posture elegant and wild at the same time. Miraak was quite tall, reminding Nephthys that he was likely not a Nord, but _Atmoran_ , and quite muscular. Drinking in the sight for a short moment, the elf wonders if Miraak kept training in melee combat during all the time he was in Apocrypha. A slightly insane part of her felt the need to remark that _yes, he was attractive, and that was good, because otherwise it wouldn’t fit his voice_. The elf immediately shoved that line of thought into an imaginary chest, locked it, and flung it into the sun.

Of course, all the while, a small, actually _sane_ voice in the back of Nephthys’s head kept telling her to _stop eyeing the man who just barely didn’t kill you_. The voice needed not to worry, though, for he seemed as entranced with the sight of Nephthys as she was with his.

Miraak himself stared intently at her – and Nephthys would not be able to tell just what part of her he was looking at, because firstly, she was too busy staring at _him_ , and secondly, his pupils weren’t exactly _visible_ with all the black around them.

However, were she born with the ability to read minds, Nephthys would know that Miraak was surprised to see she was a Dunmer, and not a Nord – though he was not disappointed. She would know that his eyes found themselves wandering to all of her, committing every detail to memory. They traced every curve of her bones, drank in the visible softness of her flushed skin, stared into her eyes – whose color he’d always deny that he silently described to himself as _Aetherial blue_ – and shamelessly coming back to her plump lips, as a tiny part of him felt needy, longing to gaze upon them longer before moving on.

She would know he felt mixed emotions on her figure and posture; that they were, to him, violently domineering and, at the same time, melting into submissiveness. She would know that, for a second, Miraak forgot what he was about to say, taken back by a kind of beauty he had not expected. Then, finally, he turned his eyes to the snow, where the blinding white could distract him from the sight in front of him, and allow him to focus.  
After a strange, timeless minute of mutual hesitation after they had removed their masks, Miraak speaks up again:

“We are not allies, Dragonborn. We are never going to be allies,” the statement causes Nephthys the need to suppress a pang of disappointment she did not know where came from. “Were it not by the Alduin threat, I would have killed you in Apocrypha. Do not ask pointless questions about my well-being, or my _feelings_.”

Miraak shifts his eyes, looking down on her, the flecks of mossy green shining bold under the cold Solstheim sun, looking more like reflections of emerald with the added light. He steps closer towards Nephthys, towering over her significantly shorter body. She can feel his confidence, but something cold brews inside her as the Atmoran keeps talking.

“This is a temporary partnership. Once Alduin is slain, I will leave you. I will not seek you out or hunt you afterwards, but that is the only mercy I will ever offer you. If I do see you again… I will kill your friends, and then kill _you_ and _devour your soul_. Am I understood, Dragonborn?”

The coldness that was brewing inside Nephthys spreads to her entire self. She takes a step closer, further diminishing the distance between the Dragonborns. Her blue eyes reflect the snow, and she stares icily into Miraak’s black ones. When she speaks, her voice is monotone and venomous, and the Atmoran visibly winces, but quickly recovers himself. Even so, she is the one to tower over him now.

“I am not asking because I care about you. I am asking because I must be sure that you haven’t suddenly grown weak, that you’re still useful to me. You’re only free because I made it so, and we both know you would be dead were it not for me. I don’t expect your gratitude, obviously, but I fully expect you to be capable of holding your end of our deal.”

They stare boldly at each other’s eyes, ice piercing into black, their domineering natures clashing against one another as their confrontation ensues.

“So I ask again, and _you will answer_ ,” Nephthys commands, her voice less venomous but still frostbite against Miraak’s ears. “How are you holding up?”

Miraak is visibly taken back by what the other Dragonborn says. Not because he is surprised or shocked, Nephthys is sure of that, but because he was being _commanded_. For a heartbeat, Nephthys feels a little fear flow through her veins, but the ice inside her dismisses it quickly as she stares at Miraak, expectantly. The Atmoran’s body is tense, and his face is unreadable.

Despite his unyielding nature, and his confident, dominating posture, he bends to her will at last and answers.

“I feel _fine_ ,” he scowls. “Do not presume that I can be weakened by something so-”

Before Miraak can finish his line of thought, Nephthys cuts him, making it clear that she does not want anything other than what she asked.

“Then we understand each other.”

She turns her back to him, resuming their walk, and puts Konahrik back on, though feeling strangely mournful once she can no longer see Miraak’s face. She dismisses the feeling and quickens her pace with heavy steps on the snow.

Unknown to her, Miraak has the same mournful feeling coursing through his being for a quick second before his ire damns it back to Oblivion, and he makes haste to walk beside Nephthys.

 


End file.
